


Sinners are Winners

by macabrecabra



Category: Diablo (Video Game), Diablo III
Genre: Cuddles, Explicit Sexual Content, For the most part, Multi, Small bit of plot, Smuddles, Smut, crackships, lots of smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-04 10:11:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20469323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macabrecabra/pseuds/macabrecabra
Summary: The possibilities for encounters between characters is endless, perhaps it is time to explore the most intimate encounters that can occur? A series of one-shot erotic ficlets, a new one each chapter focusing on crackships, strange pairings, lesser known ships, and  the very rare occasional mainstream ship as well as a few that are canon scenes that didn't make it into my other Diablo fics.Take a peak inside to get your fill of lusty, wild fun!





	1. Mortal!Tyrael/Adira:: The Witching Hour

**The Witching Hour (Mortal!Tyrael x Adria)**

_The late hours of the night, when a mortal mind can't rest, one witch has a means of helping justice find reprieve_

* * *

Caldeum nights were a strange contrast to the sweltering daylight.

When the sun sank into the stretches of desert around the city, the heat lifted its oppressive hands away from the land and took with it the light of the world, leaving only a breathtaking stretch of inky blackness above. The only light that dared to emerge in the night were the glint of the stars above and the few torches slowly smoldering to embers in their holders.   
  
A chill settled into the camp, brought in by cooling desert winds that idly ruffled at the edges of the tents around the camp high above the city proper. The hour was late and most had found their rest. Even Haedrig had retired from the forge for the evening, tucked in behind his forge in his bedroll.

The night had fallen to silent for those that could find rest. For others though, the elusive relief of sleep still eluded them.

  
The ceaseless worries of a mortal mind brought with it a wakefulness colored by underpinnings of fatigue, and perhaps was the greatest plague that Tyrael could imagine. His eyes burned and his body seemed to slow down along with his focus. No matter what he tried, he could not seem to find rest despite how his body craved it. How mortals endured such heightened thoughts to remain awake was almost maddening. Thus he found himself wandering from his own lodgings after tossing and turning for hours, restless and tired, trying to ease his worries. Soon he found himself to the platform that looked out over the city of Caldeum, arms wrapped about himself as a cold breeze danced gently across the overlook.

The armor Tyrael wore was set aside to give his body a rest from carrying its weight. It felt strange to be without it though. The former archangel felt more exposed than ever as he looked down at the city below, most of it dark with but a few places lit at such late an hour.   
  
The palace itself seemed dark, far darker than it should be. Perhaps though that was merely a side-effect of the evil that lurked somewhere within the city.  
  
“Awake still?”  
  
Tyrael tensed, turning to look behind him, his expression one of surprised. He had not expected anyone to be up this late, least of all Adria. The fallen angel gave a small shrug, turning away from the woman as she approached, his gaze falling back to the city below, “I could be asking you the same question, Adria.”   
  
The witch chuckled, moving up to stand beside him, looking down at the city, “I have always been more to enjoy the cool of the night rather than the heat of Caldeum’s daytime,” She said idly, “I prefer to sleep during the day and come out in the evening to tend to my business. Less people. Less eyes. The night is always quiet and helps to ease my mind.”

  
She paused, glancing over to the former archangel, “I do not see you sleep often? Is it...difficult to get use to?”

Tyrael gave another shrug, a habit he had started to pick up from Haedrig.

“I suppose,” Tyrael admitted, “Sleep was not something angels needed to do. It is a...foreign concept and it comes with strange visions that at times, wake me in a cold sweat of dread.”

“Ah. Nightmares. A bane many mortals find in the sleeping realm,” Aladria said with a small nod, “But in the end, they are just passing things, fading away and eventually forgotten.”   
  
“Sometimes it does not feel like that,” Tyrael murmured.  
  
Adria looked to him briefly, her gaze thoughtful. There was something behind those eyes that was unreadable and hidden. A calculative sort of look that smolder briefly like the embers of some demon’s fire. She was quick to look away before the lingering look would be caught by the archangel. A ghost of a smile though began to form on her lips.

“When the soul is weary, dreams and nightmares come more freely to ease a troubled mind.” she began slowly, “But a fitful rest, unbothered by such things, can come about by sharing those burdens with another, if only for a moment.”  
  
“The burden I bare is shared by many,” Tyrael said, looking over towards her, “The fate of all creation rests on our shoulders, on the shoulders of the nephelem. What...personal burdens I carry are of very little consequence compared to that.”

Adria gave a shake of her head, daring to draw closer. Ahand rose up to rest on Tyrael’s shoulder, giving a gentle rub, “But it is a burden that keeps you awake,” She pointed out with a cock of her eyebrow, “And mortals need sleep less our bodies give out. You will not be useful to the cause if you are collapsing from exhaustion due to far too many restless nights.”  
  
A sigh escaped Tyrael as he closed his eyes, leaning slightly against the touch subconsciously, “I know but, some nights...some nights I cannot seem to stop worrying about what may come. What could happen should we fail.”  
  
“Worries that anyone would have, but sometimes, those worries need to be let go for the night. They will be there tomorrow to muse over,” Adria said with a tilt of her head.

Tyrael shook his head, “It is not that simple to just let them go.”  
  
Adria’s smile began to grow as she let her fingers start to trail down Tyrael’s arm slowly, “Then perhaps, noble Tyrael, I may have a solution to your restlessness.”   
  
Tyrael looked at Adria, his brow furrowed in confusion as she lightly moved to slide both her hands to his shoulder, one coming up to curl just behind his neck. His whole body shivered as her nails scraped lightly over the skin there as she drew closer, the warmth of her bleeding through the night clothes he wore.   
  
“A solution?” he murmured, finding his voice again.

“A solution, or maybe distraction would be a better way to phrase it,” she said idly, leaning in, “The nights have been cold and lonely for a long time. The need for contact between mortals can cause an ache in the soul, cause more worries...”  
  
Her lips were inches from Tyrael and he tensed, not sure what to do or what she was suggesting. His hands were at his side, although he felt he was suppose to be doing something. She was in his personal space and it seemed his mortal body was more aware on some level of what should be done as a heat was blooming in his veins that was wholly unfamiliar.

“Let me ease both our worries tonight.” she murmured, one arm moving to encircle him.  
  
“How?”   
  
Adria gave a wicked smirk for the briefest moment before she leaned in, her lips brushing against Tyrael’s own. He jolted, eyes widening and he had to resist the urge to stumble back. He was familiar with some practices of mortal intimacy, but such a thing like a kiss, he had assumed was meant for couples. His shock caused him to hesitate.   
  
Adria felt no such hesitations, her mouth sliding to trail along his jaw, finding its way to his neck. Tyrael’s breath hitched, his body reacting before his mind realized. His hands were now on her hips and the heat starting to boil inside him was starting to spread outwards. Yet the core of that heat seemed to settle firmly in his groin, causing a stirring that was completely new.   
  
The feelings were unfamiliar and he wasn’t sure if they were welcomed sensations or not. It felt good though. It was a tension that felt more like the thrill he would get before battle or when sharing a victory with his kin long ago. It caused his thoughts to pull from their musings to focus on the woman against him as she continued to elicit more hot, pleasurable touches against bare skin. A small nip against his neck caused Tyrael to jerk, pulling away just enough to look at her.   
  
“This is...highly unusual,” he began, finding his voice coming out somewhat deeper before, hoarse with some new emotion.

Adria chuckled, one of her hands moving to slip under his clothes, trailing cool fingers against hot skin. The feeling caused Tyrael to shiver again, leaning into the touch, “Have you tried this as a mortal yet?” she asked.

“Tried what?” he murmured, “A kiss? I thought things were meant for those who were close...not those who have just met.”

“It can be,” Adria responded, starting to sink lower, her hands moving to rest on the hem of his pants, “But it can mean other things such as a need for company, a desire for intimacy, no matter how brief. Many mortals see such acts as merely a way to release stress.”  
  
Tyrael looked down at her, brow furrowed again, a question already starting to form on his lips before she reached up to press the palm of her hand again the crotch of his pants. His breath choked out and he felt his knees nearly buckle at the surge of pleasure that pushed through the heat and tingled to every nerve in his body. A gasp fell from his lips and his hips gave an eager buck causing Adria to chuckle.

“To be frank with you, Tyrael. One way mortals stop from worrying and relax is to have sex,” she drawled, continuing to press her palm in slow circles against his groin, causing a soft groan to find its way out of him, “And it has been a long time since I’ve had company. Perhaps I’m aching too,”  


She looked up at him, eyes lidded, a smile on her lips as her other hand started to inch down his trousers, “So if you permitted my aid, I would like nothing more than to share your burden as lovers do.”

The former archangel was frankly speechless. Dealing with the treacheries of Hell and the dire missions they had, even dealing with the blasted head of Zoltun Kuhle was easier to fathom than this. The cold of the desert seemed worlds away as heat hummed in his veins. His body felt tense and on edge but oddly giddy. His breathing felt more haggard as if he were put through some minor training session.   
  
“This is...” Tyrael paused to swallow, looking down at her unsure, “This is rather….forward of you.”

“I am not a woman to sit by idly when there is something I want,” She responded, giving a tug of his pants down, smirking as her eyes fell to what was revealed, “And it seems you are interested, at least physically, given the state of your sword.”   
  
Tyrael felt a hot flush rise up his neck and tinge his cheeks at her words although his retorted died on his lips as her hand wrapped about his turgid length. Pleasure flooded him again and he had to swallow back a moan as she started to stroke him. He found himself leaning back against the post behind him, hands gripping at the wood of it for purchase against the assault of pleasure on his body.   
  
Adria only smirked, looking up at him, “Shall I continue?”

Tyrael shifted, looking down at her before giving a slow shake of his head, looking away with another blush to his cheeks, “Yes.” he murmured, “Perhaps….perhaps this is the ah…! Best course of action to handle the problem.”

Adrial chuckled, giving a few more strokes to his length, her eyes locked with his before she leaned forward to take the head of his cock into her mouth. This time, there was no masking the moan from the former archangel as he shuddered. The sensation was completely new and his every thought was drawn to what was going on now as Adria began to move her head, slowly taking more into her mouth before pulling back.   
  
What she didn’t take into her mouth, she stroked lightly, the other hand coming up to move further back, pressing up against the sac that hung beneath his length. The touch caused his hips to jolt and one hand moved to clutch at her head for purchase.   
  
“By the arch….” He finally managed to croak out.  
  
Adria pulled away with a chuckle, licking her lips as she kept her burning eyes on him, “Do you wish me to stop?”   
  
Tyrael shifted, feeling the heat of embarrassment in his cheeks and the flush of arousal, “I….am not certain,” he finally admitted, “It does feel good but….this level of intimacy-”

“Doesn’t mean as much as you think. It is a way to release stress and you seemed to be...terribly stressed,” She chuckled, giving a slow stroke to his length, letting her thumb slide over the head.  
  
Tyrael let out a soft moan of pleasure, sinking back against the pole some, “And what do you want in return for this?” He murmured, “I do not see this as being done out of concern for me.”  
  
“Tyrael, you wound me,” She said, sliding up to her feet, her hands dropping to start hiking up her dress, “This is simply for our mutual enjoyment.”   
  
She moved in closer, one leg sliding up to rest against his hip and instinctively, Tyrael reached down to hold onto the leg to help keep her balanced. His other arm moved to move about her hip as she pressed up close. Adria was grinning, eyes burning with an emotion that Tyrael couldn’t place then in the haze of strange pleasure he was feeling.   
  
“Is this truly what mortals do to release stress.” He murmured, as she leaned forward, “Such acts seem more akin to the lusts of demons,”  
  
“Only by the standards of the overly doctrine who subscribe the natural movements of the body to sin,” She responded, one hand taking his length in hand, guiding it up between her legs, “This is how mortals are. What we do to feel close to another.”  
  
Adria leaned in closer, her lips pressing against the pulse of his neck, causing another moan to fall from Tyrael’s lips, “Just react,” she murmured, “Do what comes natural...”  
  
Tyrael’s breath caught again in his throat when the head of his length was pressed against the warm, wet heat of Adria’s slit and then he was letting out a loud groan, tensing as she sunk back on him, letting out a soft moan of her own. Tyrael’s grip tightened on her, panting softly as she moved in closer, her mouth coming to his neck again to press kisses against the skin.   
  
There was nothing to be felt but pleasure and his mind was struggling to form language. His body though was reacting, his hips giving small jerks upwards, the movement causing more ripples of pleasure. One of Adria’s hands came to rest on his hips, gripping it firmly at first to guide the pace of the small jerks. Soon he caught on to what she wanted, forcing himself to focus on settling into a steady, more purposeful rythme.  
  
Adria let out a moan, eyes sliding closed as she rocked against him, the pleasure of their union clearing feeling just as good as that running through Tyrael. She was pressed up against him, her own hips starting to move a little more insistently which he responded to with picking up his own pace. Her hands moved now to wrap about his neck, her lips finding his again to swallow up the moans that were starting to slip out more.   
  
Something was building in him, something causing his pace to quicken and the movement of their tryst to become less controlled and more animistic. With each thrust now, he was being driven deep inside the witch and she was gripping onto him tightly with one hand, the other venturing down to just above where their bodies were united to press against her bud and heighten her own pleasure. Her passage was squeezing about him, causing Tyrael to shudder and groan, panting breathlessly against her neck as his hands moved to grip her tighter, to help him move more into her, chasing something he couldn’t quiet grasp yet.   
  
They were moving together thoughtlessly now, whatever pace established before forgotten. Adria reached her peak first, burying her face against Tyrael’s neck to muffle the cry of ecstasy that was drawn out of her. Her body tensed, going limp as she climaxed, clenching tight about the archangel. In that moment, Tyrael managed but a few last frantic thrusts before the pressure within him seemed to burst.   
  
He shuddered, clutching onto her tight, a drawn out, gasping moan pulled from his lips as he crashed over the edge, releasing within the woman. Tyrael slumped further against the wooden pole behind him, slowly sliding down as the strength seemed to leave him, Aladria sinking down with him with a soft moan, her head thrown back as she enjoyed the lingering tremors of her own orgasm.   
  
No words were shared for a long moment. Tyrael felt a mixture of peace, exhilaration, shame, and confusion within his mind, leaning back just enough to eye the witch. Adria had a grin on her lips, her eyes sliding open as she looked at him, one hand sliding over his shoulders and chest slowly.   
  
“Mmm...that was very good.” she said softly, “But you do need practice.”  
  
“Practice?” He murmured, “I had no idea what you even wanted...”  
  
Adria laughed, cupping his chin and leaning in to steal a quick kiss, “Perhaps this is something I should continue to instruct you in then. With your permission of course.”  
  
“If it is a natural part of being a mortal,” Tyrael mumbled, feeling a rush of embarrassment, “Then I’ll adhere to your tutelage in such matters.”   
  
The cool air of the desert was returning, and with it the idea that someone might have actually seen them. Tyrael tensed, glancing about, relaxing only when he heard the loud rumbling of Shen’s snore that probably would have drowned out even an invasion of Hell. The camp was as silent as it was before.

No one had been privy to their tryst.   
  
Adria chuckled, moving to rise to her feet, slowly letting him slip from her. A trickle of seed splattered to the ground as she let her dress drop down to hide the sight of their union, “In either case, I think you’ll find yourself able to sleep easier tonight.”  
  
Tyrael eyed her, starting to rise to his own feet and set about pulling up his trousers and tucking himself away, “That remains to be seen.”   
  
“I am certain of it,” She returned, letting her eyes rove over him, one hand trailing down his chest, “You know where to find me should you want to continue learning about the ah….more intimate parts of being a mortal.”  
  
Tyrael watched her go, wondering what she was up to or if it was as she said and only an attempt to help. Something in him was not convinced, an unease that told him that this tryst was not a wise move on his part. He brushed those thoughts away wit ha sigh, starting to head back to his own tent, one hand rising to rub against his head.   
  
Adria was an ally and one who was doing all she could to help. There was nothing to come of….a little instruction in the late hours when others had gone to rest.   
  
Not when it had felt good and he did feel less tension in his body and a fatigue finally tugging at his mind, beckoning him to sleep. The worries, for now, had relinquished their hold on him, if only for a while.

Tyrael let out a sigh as he sunk down into his bedroll, eyes sliding closed. It was just a means to help.

A mortal, after all, couldn’t see clearly the hellfire in her eyes, the look of triumph that came with her personal conquest.

Oh would lord Diablo howl with laughter when he learned of what she had convinced the mortal archangel to do. How he would absolutely howl when her betrayal was revealed.


	2. An Enchanting Evening (Kormac x Eirena)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Enchanting Evening (Kormac x Eirena) 
> 
> A little mishap leads to a tender moment between templar and enchantress

Kormac was never keen on wizards, sorcerers, or any of the many mage clans that lurked out in Sanctuary. Their abilities always seemed unnatural and pulled l on forces that were incomprehensible. Most of the time, they tampered in things that honestly were better left alone in Kormac’s opinion. Their reckless ways and their perchance to fall to their own selfish whims and give into evil had always caused the templar to hold them in contempt. 

Of course during the time of his travel with the nephelem, he had learned that there were exceptions to his own opinions of magic users. There were those that were not half bad and proven themselves far more noble than their more selfish kin. However, exceptions or not, that did not mean he didn’t find their practices any less strange. 

“Are you nearly done?” The templar grumbled as he sat cross legged on the ground, trying not to move as he watched Eirena carefully draw symbols in the circle around him.

“Just about! Just keep still a little while longer,” She assured him, glancing up with a smile before returning to her work. 

Kormac sighed, pursing his lips and closing his eyes, “Are you even sure this is going to work?” he asked, tone dubious, “I have not heard of magic being used to relax muscles like this. Potions maybe, but not some spell circle.” 

“I am certain. It is a spell my sisters used on me to help me relax,” the enchantress assured him, “It works better than a massage!”

“If you say so...” 

The templar had been idly talking with his companions, trying to roll his shoulders at dinner to work out a plethora of kinks that seemed to have taken residence in the muscles there. Plate armor was heavy and when worn for too long, could make anyone, even the strongest of barbarians, rather sore. Rarely did Kormac have time to take it off and rest the muscles there given the lifestyle of the Nephelem to keep pressing on ahead with little time devoted to rest. 

Of course at hearing this, Eirena had grown concerned and offered her services. Kormac could never say no to her, not when she had that fire in her eyes when it came to helping someone. He had relented to her requests and thus had taken up his place in this magical circle as she moved about.

He had reservations though about the spell, especially when she told him she hadn’t casted it since her time with her sisters, over a thousand or something years ago. It wasn’t the sort of fact that filled Kormac with confidence that this spell wouldn’t turn him some unsavory color instead or sprout a third limb.

“There. That should do it,” Eirena said at last, sinking back on her heels with a smile, “Now just need to say the incantation.”

“Just get it over with,” he murmured, “I do not think I can sit still another second longer.”

“It won’t take more than a breath,” the enchantress assured with a smile, rising to her feet. 

Eirena took a deep, steadying breath, closing her eyes before she started to move about the circle, almost as if she was dancing, chanting in a language that did not sound like it came of this world. Kormac felt the hair rise on the back of his neck as power was drawn into the circle. The ripple of energy washed over him and he tensed, sucking in a breath quickly. He knew Eirena would never do anything to harm him, but it was simply a gut-reaction to spellwork that something was going to go wrong. 

The energy surged about briefly before it faded away as the last few words fell from Eirena’s lips. She came to a stop, hands clasped as she looked at him expectantly, “Well? Do you feel better?”

Kormac frowned, giving a roll of his shoulders, “No...feeling twinges still,” he murmured, “But I do feel...warmer.” 

It was a peculiar feeling. It didn’t feel like a fever as it didn’t come with a throb at the temples or grogginess. Instead, this heat seemed to be seated in his stomach and slowly spreading. The templar frowned, shifting some, “It feels like there is even more tension actually...”

Eirena blinked, her brow furrowed as she started to inspect the symbols about the circle, “I’m certain I cast the spell right...”

“Its fine. Probably just me,” He said with a smile, “Just too tough for this magic thing to take root, good or bad!” 

As he spoke though, the strange heat and tension seemed to be spreading lower, bringing with it a rather uncomfortable tightness to his pants and a flush of embarrassment to his cheeks. That was...not a reaction he expected to any spell. Nor a reaction he wanted Eirena to see. He tried to shift to cross his legs tighter to hide the growing problem, thanking Heaven itself that the enhantress was more distracted for now inspecting her spell work. 

“No, that’s not it,” she murmured, “I do not doubt your toughness, but such immunity to magic is so very rare in mortals,” 

She moved about the circle before stopping, eyes widening and cheeks reddening, “Oh...oh!”

“What?” Kormac asked, turning towards her and feeling a sense of unease creep up his spine.

“I made a mistake in drawing one of the runes. It is suppose to be a symbol of relaxation but ah,” she glanced away, “I drew the rune for passion. The two are so similar, I didn’t even realize...” 

The enchantress ducked her head in embarrassment, hands on her knees as she bowed, “I’m sorry but I think...I think I accidentally cast a spell of...enhancement on you.”

“Enhancement? What kind of enhancement?” Kormac murmured, although he had a sinking suspicion he knew what it was. 

“Well, enhancements in...bed.” She began slowly, “To increase ah, stamina.” 

“Ah.” 

Kormac felt his own cheeks color as he moved to cross his legs a bit more and hide the rather obvious problem now developing between his legs. Eirena wasn’t looking at him, her gaze fixed on the floor and the mis-drawn rune. 

The silence that filled the room was stiflingly and the templar found himself shifting again, tentatively reaching out to awkwardly pat her on the shoulder, “Well...at least it is not a problem that is difficult to fix,” he murmured, grasping at something to make her feel better, “Not like you gave me a third eye or some other devilry.”

“Still, I wanted to help you,” She murmured, “I wanted to help you relax.”

Kormac offered a small smile, “Eirena, you already do enough to help me.” He glanced away, clearing his throat, “You are good to talk to, far more than that scoundrel. You...you have always soothed me with your words. Even if this spell didn’t work or went wrong, I still like your company.”

The smile she gave him only caused the heat in his belly to stir up like a horde of angry fallen ones and he found himself looking away again, rubbing the back of his head.

“I’m glad.” Eirena said softly, “I like your company as well, Kormac.” 

She reached over then to rest a hand on his arm, shifting to sit closer to him. He found himself tensing some as her head rested against his shoulder, causing him to look over. 

In the low candlelight of the room, she looked almost ethereal. Her skin and hair flawless, molded from perfection no doubt. She was like some ancient statue in the old temples of Westmarch that had stepped down to grace him with her blessed presence. He found himself swallowing hard and looking away. 

“I’m...I’m happy to hear that,” he managed to stutter out. 

She chuckled, closing her eyes briefly as she rested against him, “And… if you...if you want, I could still help you relax. Make up for my error.”

Kormac felt if his face went any redder he would be looking like some hellspawn. He looked at her quickly before looking away, “I could never ask of you to spoil yourself in that way,” He murmured, “Such things….those are things to share with someone you love.”

“Who said I didn’t love you?”

That had him looking at her again, eyes wide and gawking. She was blushing, shyly looking up at him, “Is it strange?” She asked softly, “I have been...fond of you, of your friendship, your kindness, and even the rough edges. How you boast, how passionate you are to help...”

“You...well...” Kormac knew he was babbling and turned his head to clear his throat, “The feeling...the feeling is mutual.” 

“Then let me help.” 

He found himself stuttering as she moved from his side to sit in his lap slowly. His hands came up to rest on her hips, staring at her as if she had just spoken to him all the truths of the holy texts. The enchantress smiled shyly, resting her hands on his shoulder. 

“Is this all right?”

“Yes. Yes of course it is,” he responded quickly, “Just...this is so sudden. Not in a thousand lifetimes could I dream-” 

Kormac gave a shake of his head, pushing down the doubts and murmurs of uncertainty that wanted to be known. Those dark words that muttered how he was not worthy to even touch her so. He let his hands run up her back gently, offering her a smile, one that reached his eyes as he leaned forward. 

“Maybe just start with a kiss….” he murmured. 

Eirena smiled, her own eyes sliding closed as she leaned in. 

That first kiss was a shock to his system. It was clear neither of them had much experience with it, and Eirena let out a small giggle as they shifted about to find the best angle for their lips to meet. Kormac huffed softly, but did his best to go with what felt right and not think too much about his obvious lack of experience. A few shared kisses in his youth with a local girl here or there behind a barn weren’t much to go on and the templars had forbade such contact when he had joined. 

Slowly though, they eased into it, the kisses they shared becoming more streamlined as they learned the contour of each other. Her body was now pressed flush against his, her delicate hands starting to move down his covered chest as his own hands ran up the smooth skin of her back, untouched and unblemished by scars. 

After a few moments they pulled back, both of them flushed, but smiling. Kormac swallowed some before busying himself with trying to undo the buttons of his tunic, “I suppose ah, the next step in this is to be rid of these...” 

She chuckled, sitting back and starting to work on removing her own top, “I suppose so.”

The templar couldn’t help but feel a bit shy as he was disrobed, especially compared to the beauty and grace that sat before him. Her skin was smooth and flawless, like moon-touched alabaster while his own was darkened by the sun, covered in marring scars and springs of hair. He felt like some sort of Khazra compared to her, yet the way she looked at him, so full of adoration as she pulled him back into her embrace made him feel like he was so much more.

Their lips met again, this time with more urgency and passion behind it as all reservations began to be let go. Hands became more bold in their explorations. Eirena let out a hum of pleasure as his fingertips inched to trace over her breasts, tentatively at first, then bolder. Every part of her was so soft and he felt as if his calloused hands would somehow mar her. 

Yet his touch brought only soft sounds of pleasure, just as much as her own hands sent fire through his veins as she lovingly traced over every scar across his chest and down his belly. The two of them shifted together to pull of what few garments still kept them apart, and then she pressing against him again, their lips meeting, one of his hands upon a breast, the other keeping her steady as she rolled her hips experimentally against his own. 

The moans that escaped him were muffled against her lips, her hands cupping both sides of his head as they crashed together. All thoughts seemed to flee as she lifted herself, shyly reaching down to guide his need to her own. Eirena paused, for a moment as they pulled apart again, looking away nervously.

“….this...this is my first time with a man.” she murmured, “If I’m not pleasing-”

“I don’t think there is anything in all of reality that will please me more than you. I would want no other save you,” he murmured, “And...this is my first time as well.”

That caused her to look up in surprise, “Really?”

“Aye. Such things were forbidden among the templars,” his grip tensed, looking up at her, “But for you, I would throw those vows away to make ones to you. To be by your side until the Hells take us.” 

A flush rose to her cheeks and she shook her head, leaning to kiss him gently, “And I for you Kormac, but do not change who you are for me. I love you just how you are.” 

He couldn’t help the smile as he leaned in close, resting his forehead against hers. Both his hands moved to her hips to help steady her as she moved closer. The enchantress bit her lip before slowly starting to sink down, wincing a bit at the stretch. For his part, the templar kept himself still, letting her control the pace as they slowly became one. 

She was panting softly, clutching onto him like a life line as she finally had taken him completely inside her. Kormac felt as if he had found Heaven itself in her arms, gritting his teeth if only to keep his own will in check as it slowly began to crumble. The two remain still like that for a moment before slowly she raised her hips, taking a small experimental thrust. 

“It is okay now,” she managed softly, “You can move.”

He couldn’t find the words to answer her, merely nodding as his hips lurched forward. They were out of sync with each other’s movements at first, gently trying to navigate their tryst before finally settling into a slow rhythm. Everything about it though felt wonderful. Every sound they shared as they moved, the pleasure kindling between them like a fire that raced between them. Their lips met again as their movement increased, his hands holding her tight as his pace hastened as he felt the desire start to bloom more urgently between them. 

His name was on her perfect lips. Her name was the only thing he could think of as they soon reached their peak together, coming undone with loud cries. 

The templar found himself slumping back, his new lover cradled in his arms as they both began to descend from those hazy, lofty heights of pleasure. All the aches of the weeks seemed to bleed away and he couldn’t help a small smile and chuckle, one hand coming up to comb through her hair. 

“...your spell worked after all,” he murmured softly. 

That earned a soft laugh from as she looked up at him, stealing a quick, but loving kiss, “I’m glad it did.” She said softly, resting her head on his shoulder, “I’m so very glad it did.”

Kormac couldn’t help a smile. The tension of the day bled away as they rested together, unable to control the warm bloom of love that seemed to chase everything away. 

Spellcasters were odd, but there were exceptions.

Some more beautiful and lovingly than others. Some he would give everything to protect and who meant all the worlds of creation to him.


	3. Always a Choice (ITTTSP!Ira x ITTTSP!Mal)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malthael isn't one to turn away from a challenge and a bit of fun...no matter consequences. (takes place after chapter 26 of my larger fic, "In Time, This Too Shall Pass") 
> 
> Consider it bonus smut on the side of that large fic XD;

* * *

Adjusting to Heaven was strange if Malthael was to be perfectly honest. It had been centuries since he had been within the silver city and the stretches of land beyond its boarders. So long in fact that he had even begun to think he would never see it again.

Now that he was here and free once more, there was a strangeness to it all. It felt like he had never left while at the same time, feeling like everything had changed. Heaven didn’t quiet feel like home, not yet. Perhaps not for a long while more.

The former archangel, more often than not, found himself more prone to wandering the pools of wisdom and finding menial tasks to occupy his mind when he needed a break from his work. Of course his study was important, but even he knew that such delicate work could only benefit from reprieves from time to time. However, such things were dull without his typical means of relaxing available to him.

In the days when he had sat upon the throne of Heaven, Malthael had thrown lavish parties and socialized quiet frequently with the majority of Heaven, particularly after long stretches of time spent meditating over the chalice. True he wasn’t one to share much wisdom with others, but he liked to know who was in Heaven and what was going on in order to make the best decisions. During such gatherings, he could indulge in the idly chatter of gossip and small talk and no longer concern himself with the burdens of ruling.

In particular, those parties had made it easier to meet angels that were interested in more personal affairs. Angels who were looking more for moments to steal as a duet with him, a bit of fun to indulge in for a while. At least, that is, until the whole affair and wild trysts grew dull and Malthael would find his attentions wavering elsewhere.

The mortals would call it a fling, to Malthael, it was a temporary amusement, a game he found entertaining to pursue again and again. The pursuit of that physical intimacy with another of his kin and the rush that came with reducing his partners to puddles of gasping song was a matter of pride. To hear his name being called out at the height of pleasure sent a thrill through him that caressed something dark in his core.

To know that so many looked up to him and desired him, filled him with a sense of worth.

However, those days were long gone. Now there seemed to be a rather healthy distrust for him among the older angels. Even more so among those that he had called lover for a brief time, stringing them along until eventually he grew tired and he moved onto his next conquest.

The former archangel knew there were some of his angelic kin that held a grudge against him for the heartache he had left them with more so than his actions against Sanctuary. Really, Malthael couldn’t understand why when he had made it clear that what they had shared was as far from love as it could possibly get. He had never lied by declaring love or affection during their brief affair.

He was not responsible for the consequences others made when they sought him out and thought he would surrender his heart like some love-addled fool. His heart had long since fallen into the care of another who still held it, even if she was realms apart.

The older angels knew that. However the younger ones, well, youth brought with it that curiosity that was yet to be tempered by experience or be aware of just what was on the line to be lost tangling into an affair with Malthael.

The former archangel barely glanced up as the doors to the study he was occupying in the ruins of the pools of wisdom slammed open. One of his wings flicked slightly as he turned a page casually of the book he was reading as he watched Ira stalk in, her wings practically smoking and every inch of her form radiating hostility. Slowly, the former archangel cocked his head.

“Someone appears to be in a rather cross mood,” Malthael commented, “I do hope though that I am not somehow the cause of it.”

Ira’s wings flared in agitation, the glint of her helmet catching in the low light of the study as she looked away, “Like you could possibly get under my armor. You are just annoying. Not a fucking irritating, overgrown bloodsucking gnat!”

Ah, so it wasn’t him. It was some other angel in Heaven, most likely of her own host if the former archangel would hazard a guess. Really, Malthael knew little about the new captain of the luminarei other than it was clear she had a fascination with him and seemed to take some glee in taking advantage of him when he had been bound and unable to fully retaliate.

A point he hadn’t forgotten and was fully intent on returning when the opportunity was right. Her bold actions, as far as he was concerned, were all the permission needed to return the favor in kind with added interest.

“Ah, if that is the case, then may I inquire as to why you have sought me out? I’m not known for being terribly good at listening to the woes of others,” Malthael said idly, turning another page in his book, “I can direct you to Itherael if you need someone to complain to. He’s got more patience for such things.”

“I’m not looking for someone to complain to,” Ira growled, moving to slip off her helmet and put it on the table before coming over to him. Both her hands came down on the armrests of the chair, all but caging Malthael as she leaned over him some, “I’m here to just have someone to blow off steam and I’ve heard you a reputation for such things.”

Malthael idly looked up at her, his posture relaxed. He studied her carefully, noting her body language. She was tense, and upset. Not really thinking about much else than the need to work through the tension in her resonance and clearly wanting an outlet other than the combat that valor angels fell to. That could only mean whoever had pissed her off so thoroughly was someone she probably sparred with often.

What was more amusing however, was that she thought she was the one in control of this encounter with her attempt to establish her dominance over him somehow.

Frankly that was adorable. Especially given he was no longer bound and easy to manipulate.

Carefully, Malthael, dog-eared the page to mark his place before he closed his book, “I have had my share of rendezvous in the past, yes, but what thinks that I want one with you?”

“If anything?” her wings flared some, her tone smug, “To get even with all the feeling up I’ve done to you. I don’t see you as the type to take that and not want a little payback.”

The former archangel couldn’t hold back a slight chuckle at that. That is exactly something that would get him to engage in a duet, he would give her that. Not to mention, the young angel of valor seemed more than a little curious to take her chances given the flutter of her wings.

Might as well live up to expectations he supposed and give her what she wanted.

The former archangel set aside his book on the side table and leaned back in his chair, idly crossing his legs in a way that brought one knee up between her legs, his wings slipping forward quickly to tangle into hers. One hand came up to hook the front of her armor at the same time, overbalancing Ira forward suddenly. Malthael chuckled as he leaned in, his voice dropping an octave to a near growling purr, “If you want to play, I’ll play, but that is all I’ll offer up. There is no strings attached to this romp.”

Ira snorted, reaching forward to grip onto the front of Malthael’s armor, pulling him forward as well, “Did anyone else tell you that you talk too damn much?”

Malthael chuckled again, “Oh? Then I suppose I should rectify that.”

The former archangel moved quickly then, all but pushing Ira up and off him and then back against the table in one fluid motion. The captain of the luminarei let out a string of curses that was suddenly silenced by the reaper of Westmarch as he leaned in, his wings tightening against the base Ira’s own, causing her to let out a yelp, arching in sudden pleasure.

His head was lowered close to hers, foreheads pressed to one another in the angelic form of a kiss. He could not feel her resonance to know what she was feeling, instead, his attention was on her body language and the soft sounds that he managed to draw from her. A gasp when the base of her wings was brushed with his own wings, a hiss when the sharp tips of his gauntlets slipped between the seams of armor to brush over the form within.

His touch was firm, but more exploratory, a low hum escaping him when her own hands started to mimic his actions, tentative at first, but quickly growing bold. The touches though were still colored by inexperienced youth, trying to copy what he did and have Malthael react the same way. The touches were pleasurable, but the former archangel was far more practiced in keeping his reactions steeled, giving only the barest hums of pleasure to let her know she was on the right track.

“I get the feeling you do not do this often, do you? At least not so physical.” He said, his tone amused as his wings began to vibrate, letting out that rasp as they rubbed against her own. The result being an unfamiliar buzz through Ira’s resonances that caused her to let out another gasp of pleasure, even as she tried to hold it in.

Ira’s hand came up between his legs the palm of her gauntlet pressing up hard, eliciting a hitch of breath from the reaper, “Shows….shows how much you know about me,” she huffed back, her tone challenging.

Malthael just cocked his head, one of his own hands starting to trail down the front of her armor,“Oh really now? Then I suppose I don’t have to hold back.”

It was mortal belief that angels were just energy and armor, bound up by some strange magic of the arch and therefore, incapable of physical expressions of intimacy. However, that was a terribly misled. Beneath the armor, the energy took on something of a form, something solid enough to wear and bind to the armor that would form from the inside out.

Angels were capable of feeling touch as the armor was as much a part of them as anything else. However, the inner form was far more sensitive and there were certain areas where the armor did not cover completely, leaving gaps for ease of movement. The base of the wings, about the neck, what constituted a face, at the joins, and of course, at the groin. The last spot was of particular note as it often made for the easiest access to intertwine essences given that wings themselves often began to bleed off at the height of a duet.

It was also made it easy for Malthael to slip fingers up into Ira, letting his own cool soul press up against the fiery hot energy that was starting to build-up within the captain of the luminarei. Ira jumped, squirming some at the unfamiliar feeling of a wisdom angel. There was no resonance, no feeling to what Malthael offered, but his energy was an unrelenting pressure against her own soul, the cold tendrils of power seeing to wrap about the core of her soul and squeeze, sending a pleasurable shock of cold through her song. It caused her resonance to spike, murmuring higher pitched notes and her wings to start burning with more intensity.

Not to be out done though, Ira leaned forward, pressing their faces together to unleash a swarm of energy akin to a tongue or a lick against his own, her hands busying themselves with getting beneath his tabard to press her own essence back at him and gain a reaction.

A low rasp rumbled out of Malthael in returned as he pressed in closer, slipping between Ira’s spread legs to press close, his free hand rising up to scrape against armor before stopping to dig those digits into the back of her left wing. Ira let out a yelp, her armor heating up in embarrassment as another surge of heat rose up in her. Everything felt too hot now, as if her very core was being set aflame despite the ice cold touch of the reaper. Every time she thought she had her thoughts in order to press up against Malthael’s tender spots, to tear and tug at the base of his wings, He was twisting his fingers in a way that seemed to find a new spot to tease and reduce her back to a groaning mess on the table.

There was something to be said about experience. How many times had he been in this exact situation with some hot-blooded angel fooling around for the sheer physical pleasure of the action?

Too many times would be what some would say and perhaps they were right. It wasn’t like he could recall an exact count of his conquests after all.

Malthael pressed his fingers up deeper, leaning his weight against her as the grip of his wings tightened on her own, looking to wrap up around her own tendrils, pressing and tugging to stimulate her inner core to new heights. His cold was almost a relief now with the heat that was growing in her. Ira’s resonance was twining in song, wanting something to latch onto and entangle with and reach those high pitched notes of pleasure that would resonate with the arch.

Her partner though did not rise to that height, focused on the physical, not able to meet her pitch. There was no resonance that could sing with her own easily. His own melody was in the tremble of wings, a murmuring vibration along her pinions that sought out a tuneless melody that others could not grasp. Just as the peak of pleasure seemed about to cascade, Malthael relented, pulling back and causing Ira to let out a groan, hands reaching up to grip tight at his shoulders to keep him close.

“What are you doing now?”

“It is no fun if it is over too quickly,” he returned, voice amuse, “And not fun if only one of us gains satisfaction.”

Ira jolted, armor heating up in silent embarrassment of how caught up she had gotten under the careful, experienced touch of the far older angel. She glanced away, wings fluttering quickly, “...sorry.”

“Please. You aren’t the first virgin I’ve deflowered,” he drawled, shifting to press up close, one knee coming up on the table, “And most likely not the last.”

The captain of the luminarei flushed again, her wings stilling and a retort was no doubt building in her throat although that abruptly turned a loud cry of surprise, her grip tightening on Malthael as the reaper of Westmarch jerked his hips up and forward abruptly, bringing with it an entirely new feeling of pleasure.

Angels were not bound by the same means of reproduction as demons, but all angels could manipulate their inner form to an extent and when it came to coupling and performing a duet, one partner was expected to take the lead and press into their partner, to extend themselves far more fully upwards to tangle resonances together and meet that perfect pitch of song that would cause the arch to sing with their union and produce a fledgling. Gender really had little to do with and more to do with who was more comfortable or more dominating when it came to taking the lead.

At this point, the song of two resonances slowly coming into perfect harmony was to be heard, as two souls became one and connected tightly to one another.

Malthael though did not feel that same connection. There was silence other than the gasp and moans of the captain as he pressed against her over and over again, claws dragging over armor with a shriek to leave his marks all over her, his wings tangling and holding hers down with ease, showing just how great his physical power was despite the slimness of his form. His cold was an icy chill, seeking to wrap up the building energy and heat in her form as he pushed her quickly again towards the edge of completion.

Each crash of hips caused the table to groan in protest and for him to leave more of his marks, looking to touch her in as many places as he could to send her spiraling out of control. His breath was ragged but controlled, barely a sound of pleasure coming out of him as he leaned in for the angelic version of a kiss, the act demanding, controlling, and with a very aggressive edge to it as if at any moment he would consume her soul.

The captain’s hands clawed at his back, against his wings as their union grew increasingly more erratic until the energy that had been building up within her burst and a loud shrieking cry escaped Ira, inhuman in its volume as she arched up, trembling as her wings all exploded outwards in a sudden burst of excess energy before sputtering out to smoking tendrils.

Malthael’s own completion was just as sudden, his wings becoming almost wisps of smoke and going complete incorporeal, no longer the almost hard bone of before. His cold touch and notes were twisting in the boneless angel below him, her once glorious wings currently sputtered out into small sparks of energy and smoke, burnt out like a star in the post-coital bliss.

She was oblivious to the world as Malthael kept pressed against her, giving slow rocks of his hips that had her practically whimpering at the over stimulation to her resonance. A chuckled escaped him at the sight, before his gaze was drawn upwards.

He didn’t need to be able to sense other angels to know someone was at the door, if only for the briefest of moments. That posture of alarm in the intruder that had come, the moment of hesitation as they probably got to take in the sight before them.

That sudden pull of wings to the back, the tension to their shoulders and the curling of hands to fists before they were gone in a blink, whatever they were to say already dead in their chest before it could come out.

It mattered little to Malthael. He had little shame about being caught in a duet publicly. Shame would indicate that he had something to feel guilty about.

“That was….” Ira murmured, one hand lazily coming up to grab Malthael’s hood, “That was amazing.”

“I always look to leave my partners for the evening satisfied,” Malthael responded, “But I do believe someone might have walked in briefly.”

Ira snorted, wings starting to return, splaying out more, “I could care less who saw. None of their business whom I’m seeking out for company.”

“I suppose so.”

If any older angel was about they would disagree venomously with Ira’s words and no doubt share the many stories of just how many potential and happy couples had been shattered to peaces when they learned their loved ones or crushes had been sharing evenings with him.

It was the part of his reputation that was whispered about even less.

Slowly the former archangel started to pull away from the captain, wings spreading out in a stretch as he took his leave, “Has your curiosity been sated?”

The captain sat up slowly, wings flicking about in slight agitation, reaching slightly in his direction as if expecting something more to be done after the duet. Still, she sat forward, her tone amused, “Maybe. Maybe I want to come by more often.”

“I’m sure Orephilus will share.” Malthael said with a shrug, already moving to sink back in his chair as if nothing at all had happened, picking up his book, “But I do hope there is nothing more than the act you are seeking from me. Let’s not make this awkward because there is actual feeling involved in this.”

“I know.” Ira sat back some, wings pulling in a bit tight, one hand rising up to fiddle with the orange scarf she wore, “...did you see who walked in?”

“No,” Malthael answered honestly with a shrug, “Valor though given how quickly they were able to teleport away. Not lord Imperius if that is what worries you. Nor Ignaceus. Not someone I’m familiar with.” he chuckled, “Arch above, if it had been Imperius he would have raised a huge fuss as he always does when he catches me with one of his captains, even if it is after their duty.”

Ira nodded, fingers still tangling with the scarf before slowly sliding back to her feet. She wavered a bit, her wings giving out another shower of sparks as they slowly regained their strength, “The stress relief was appreciated by the way. I really needed that.”

“You know where to find me,” Malthael returned with a chuckle, already turning a page in his book, “Until next time then.”

The captain’s armors flushed a bit as she nodded, starting to hurry out to whatever business she was looking to attend to now. Maybe to try and figure out who the intruder was or maybe to some other duty to settle.

The moment had passed, as it always did, sated and more curious if this would be one of those flings that would be left at the door or if it was one of those that would have some sort of consequence involved.

Either way, it mattered little to Malthael.

He turned a page in his book, lounging back to get comfortable, stretching out and letting his thoughts trail back to his work once more and to the research to be conducted.

There was time for fun and games, but afterwards, the work always remained. That was simply the cycle of pleasure and wisdom that he had fallen into and continued to pursue.

Just one of the parts of Heaven that had remained the same.


	4. Escape (Imperius/Rakanoth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What did go down with the lord of despair and archangel of valor? (Takes place after chapter 23 of my larger fic, In Time, This Too Shall Pass) 
> 
> Another "bonus smut" as it wasn't expanded on in the big fic, but I always did want to write it out XD;

* * *

_Imperius was silent for a moment before his grip tightened on the demon, pushing him back down, “I did not tell you to stop demon,” he growled, “And I’m still able to think about the day! I told you, you have this one time to convince me of how skilled you even are at pleasing me!”_

_Rakanoth paused before grinning wide, “As you wish, my lord.”_

_Imperius didn’t want to think about what he was letting happen nor did he want to think about the trial, about Malthael, about Heaven, or any of the other thousands of worries he had. Just for tonight. Pleasure was surging in his core, starting to wash all of that way. Heat curling within his form promising an oblivion he had only heard whispered between troops over idly banter and drink. Part of him was still besides itself in horror at what was happening but a far larger part of him simply didn’t care anymore._

_Not tonight._

_All that matter was that slowly growing fog of bliss that clouded out all other things and the new sensations that required all his attention to adjust to._

_Come tomorrow morning, he would have time again to worry about all of this and worry about everything that would transpire then._

_For now, there was only thoughts of heat and fire and the embrace of a pleasurable eternity._

(And then….things continued)

* * *

Imperius shivered, both hands clutching at the demon’s head as he sucked in an unneeded breath as another wave of pleasure welled up through his resonance. The demon though only took such signs as permissions to snake that sinfully long tongue he possessed deeper between the seams of his lower armor and up against the swell of energy that made up his core.

A rather deep press of the tongue had Imperius jerking some, letting out a louder growl. Rakanoth merely chuckled in response, lifting his head, teeth bared in a grin, “I can tell that was pleasing.”

“You can’t tell a thing,” Imperius retorted, wings flaring, giving the barest hint of a flutter, “Any angel would think to go...there!”

Rakanoth hummed, cocking his head before moving to lean in closer, “Maybe, but I doubt anything in Heaven has something like this at their disposal.”

The lord of despair let his tongue roll out, the appendage black and long, looking more like some sort of twitching snake as it slipped out from between his teeth. The tip flicked up, moving to drag over over Imperius’s chest and causing the archangel to tense.   
  
The feel of that tongue over the corruption was...new. It sent hot pleasure rushing through him and he was forcing back a low groan as one hand rose up to slide over the top of Rakanoth’s head, “It does not matter what you have, but how you use it, Rakanoth, and I do not think you are using it as skillfully as you think!”

That earned a laugh from the demon as he leaned in to give a nip to Imperius’s chest and then up along his shoulder. This time Imperius couldn’t help the small hiss that came with the action, his wings flicking forward to brush along the hide of the demon as the desire for more touch started to nag at the back of his mind.

“No need to go all out at once yes? Can take our time finding every little spot that makes you start to writhe...”   
  
Imperius made to protest but his voice quickly stuttered out into a sudden gasp of pleasure as Rakanoth’s devilish tongue slipped between the seams of his armor at the shoulder. At the same time, the demon also brought an arm about to press the upper arm against the back of Imperius’s wings, slowly rubbing the limb against the sensitive spot. The archangel of valor found himself flushing and arching against the touch before looking away with a huff.

“Wicked creature….” he growled.

“Oh you haven’t seen me at my worse just yet, Imperius,” Rakanoth responded before leaning his weight against the archangel to pin him down as he started to work his tongue over the chest and shoulders, taking the time to brush over the corruption and into every seam he found.

The assault was sudden enough that it coaxed a groan out of the archangel of valor. His head fell back as the pleasurable cloud continued to rob him of senses. The demon was relentless and Rakanoth seemed to know what he was doing and where exactly to apply that snake-like tongue. Soon though the demon was dipping back between his leg, purring loudly.   
  
Imperius’s wings were starting to glow brighter, fluttering and letting out a shower of sparks with each press against his core. The hot force of riled up energy was pressing up against his chest, bleeding out through his wings and more heat was being expelled as his armor maintained its rosy glow. His tail had curled up then, wrapping about Rakanoth’s waist in an effort to keep the demon close. The action only caused the lord of despair to purr louder, working his tongue in deeper. There was something abhorrent about how a demon was able to elicit such pleasure with naught but his tongue and Imperius felt almost a little embarrassed from how easily the lord of despair to could coax small sounds of pleasure out of him.

Then again, this was the first time Imperius had actually engaged in anything related to a duet with another. He would always tell himself it was because of his duty taking up his time and that the conflict left little room for romantic pursuit. It was certainly not because he was terribly shy about the whole affair and hated to admit he was unskilled in anything.

Duets were not something one could practice alone.   
  
Such thoughts though were quickly fading away, replaced by a growing fog that came with the building pressure in his form, the energy pushing outwards, looking for a release. Just as it felt like he was going to hit the breaking point, his hips jerking as he started to hiss out a torrent of curses, Rakanoth abruptly pulled away, drawing his tongue back into his maw.  
  
“Why did you stop?” Imperius growled, eyeing the demon as the lord of despair shifted to sit up more, starting to wiggle up between the archangel’s legs.

“I think I got you ready is all and this isn’t a one sided exchange of pleasure, my lord,” the demon responded with a chuckle, “Can not your adoring subject share in that pleasure?”

Imperius sat up on his elbows some, wings flaring out a bit, “What are you-” he paused when he felt something hot and far more fleshy than anticipated pressing up against the groin of his armor causing his voice to fail as he realized just what the demon wanted now.

The archangel of valor shifted some, feeling a curious buzz to continue and to find relief for the pressure of energy within his form while another part was very aware that this was going into territory that most of Heaven would considered terribly unnatural. He was pretty sure there was some law in Heaven that would say he was to be condemned to some unholy punishment for even letting this occur.

There was also always the lingering possibility of this leading to some rather unwanted after effects of a union between a demon and an angel that Imperius couldn’t quiet shake. Very few in Heaven beyond Inarius and his rebels were, well, privy to how exactly nephelem were formed between angels and demons.

Not to mention that Rakanoth wasn’t equipped to “standard” as it were when it came to demons unless having two members, both swollen with need, was typical of demons.

That was the most immediate concern to consider.

“Is the lord afraid?” Rakanoth teased, “I have been told what I offer can be ah...daunting.”

“I am not afraid,” Imperius growled, digging his fingers against Rakanoth’s hide, “But you seem to assume I would give you permission to go further!”

Rakanoth cocked his head, “Then let me ask, do you want to go further, my lord?”

Imperius paused, shifting some as he looked everywhere but at the demon. Hesitation was rumbling in his resonance but with it was something else, a tremor of appreciation of being asked and dare he say, even a bloom of affection. The archangel of valor shifted before letting out a huff, armor flushing as he pulled the demon close to rest his forehead against the demon.

“Make it quick before I change my mind,” he murmured.

“As quick I dare make it,” the demon responded.

Rakanoth shifted then, moving to slip both arms down and about Imperius, making sure to mind his blades as he began to jerk his hips forward. The demon was having trouble finding purchase though, the heated tips of the length brushing up, but not managing to press forward and into the archangel. After another series of misses, Imperius let out a growl, re-positioning himself just enough that he could reach down and take one of Rakanoth’s lengths in hand.

“Allow me,” Imperius drawled, “Given that you seem to have no sense of aim.”

“It is not an easy thing when one is not use to mounting an angel,” the demon growled, although his breathing hitched into a hiss as he felt the archangel give him a few slow strokes, “You angels are so...rigid in the wrong places!”

“Or you just can’t aim,” Imperius repeated with a growl, “And are content to keep me waiting an eon for you to finally figure out where it is suppose to go!”

Perhaps Imperius was just a bit curious about the demon as well, feeling out what was there, letting claws drag lightly against the underside of one of the two lengths, letting out a small hum as he felt the trickle of liquid out the tip.

This was probably going to be far messier than anticipated. Just something else for the demon to clean up when this was all said and done.   
  
Slowly Imperius shifted to sit up more, his wings slipping forward to wrap about the demon to help in keeping them close as he shifted forward, slowly starting to ease the tip of the length into him. Rakanoth grunted, giving a small jerk in an attempt to get the second one in. Imperius let out a hiss, his free hand coming up to push at the demon’s chest.

“Patience would you?” Imperius managed, voice tight.   
  
“is it painful?”   
  
“Of course not!” Imperius managed, shifting about as he took the length at his own pace, grip firm on the demon to keep him from moving for now, “Just….different!”

Arch take him if he admitted that there was far more discomfort than pleasure for now and that he was more aware of the fact demons were not built with smaller partners in mind. Or perhaps more yielding partners in mind. There was some strain to his form as angels weren’t designed for taking something so...solid into their forms. Imperius held still, trembling some before finally easing up his hold on the demon to give a small roll of his hips.   
  
The lord of despair let out a loud, guttural groan, eagerly bucking forward at that, leaning down to nuzzle up against Imperius, “That felt good….”

“I’m not..ah...completely without understanding of how this is suppose to work,” Imperius grunted, starting to move more, hands rising to grasp at the demon’s shoulder as he started to move, taking charge of the pace, “I did ah...spend time around the nephelem and their ngh! Debased conversations.”

“Seems you took some notes,” Rakanoth groaned, starting to move against Imperius more, the second length slipping upwards to rub up between their bodies.

Imperius snorted, although his breath was labored as the build up of energy within seemed to spike more as the demon pressed in deeper and he felt the whole thing start to throb with its own energy, “I’m a quick learner...” he groaned, “And you can move faster than that, I am not made of glass!”

The demon chuckled, baring teeth before moving to brace himself, “As you wish my lord.”

Rakanoth snarled in pleasure as he pressed up harder, increasing, starting to set a bone-rattling pace. Imperius let out a hiss, but did not fall behind, matching the demon’s movements, his grip tightening, silently demanding more from the demon.   
  
The pressure was building faster now and with it, a return of the intense pleasure from before. Imperius could hear his resonance starting to practically shriek out its song now as he continued to move, loud enough that anyone nearby would be well aware of something akin to a duet was taking place. That peak though fell just out of reach when Rakanoth suddenly stopped, earning a few frustrated jerks from Imperius.   
  
“I did not say you could stop,” Imperius snarled, voice hoarse as he tugged the demon’s head down closer to his own, “You aren’t stopping until I say so!”  
  
“A brief pause,” Rakanoth managed back, panting, “I don’t want just one in you.”

Imperius paused, gaze dropping to the length still rubbing against the outside, the tip having smeared its pre-cum against his belly and thighs. He shifted before letting out a growl and taking hold of it, giving a few strokes before moving to sit up more, spreading his legs a bit wider, “Fine...”  
  
It was a daunting maneuver and it took longer than Imperius wanted to admit. There was a slight discomfort and pain as his form protested the sudden intrusion of both lengths, but if anything, the archangel of valor was stubborn and not one to falter in the face of a challenge.

Slowly, he sunk down, feeling the discomfort again against his form as he adjusted. Imperius trembled, his claws curling against Rakanoth’s hide and feeling both completely embarrassed by the position he was in and in completely ecstasy given the additional pressure was sending intense shock waves of pleasure through his entire being.

“There,” imperius managed out, voice trembling, “Now move….and I swear...if you stop again, I’m going to throttle you...”

“So demanding,” Rakanoth rasped, his tone amused.

Imperius hissed, claws digging harder against Rakanoth’s hide, eliciting a yelp from the demon, “Why aren’t you moving?!”

This time, Rakanoth’s response was a low growl before he was humping forward again, shifting his own weight to make the angle all the more comfortable for both of them. The discomfort was quick to fade and the roll of pleasure and tension began to build again. Imperius’s wings were wrapping tight about Rakanoth as more energy bled off them, sending a cascade of sparks against the floor.   
  
The whole affair was rough, especially as it was clear Rakanoth was starting to ascend to his own peak with every desperate thrust forward. The archangel of valor was forcing himself to not be as vocal as he might be otherwise, feeling the loud cries and keens wanting to warble out, managing to keep them to groans and soft curses as his fingers curled against the demon’s hide.   
  
The pressure was intense and every fiber of his being felt like it was on fire. His resonance was singing, howling to the arch itself to try and draw on its energy. The demon was snarling now, caught up in the mindless rush of instincts. The lord of despair’s teeth were bared before with a near roar, he bit down on Imperius’s shoulder hard enough to draw blood. The sudden rush of pain mixing with the pleasure drew a sudden loud cry from Imperius, his hips rocking erratically before everything fell apart.

All sense left him as the energy burst out from his wings, his entire form writhing as his resonance and energy swirled about in a disharmonious mess of emotions and desire. The arch was humming, meeting his pitch as his energy crescendo. Rakanoth drew upon some other energy though as he let out another roar, hunching forward as he found his own release buried in the archangel of valor.   
  
There was a strange rush of warmth tangling up in his resonance as it swirled about, causing it to fall into disarray all over again. The archangel found himself letting out an embarrassing keen as he slumped back, shuddering. He was too far gone to even care though.

Imperius couldn’t form a single coherent thought as he lapsed into the well of pleasure their duet had induced, slumping back against his lounger, wings nothing more than a smoking veil with a few stray sparks to indicate he was even still coherent.   
  
Vaguely he was aware his shoulder was bleeding from where Rakanoth had bit him, although the demon was already lazily starting to lap at the wound and murmuring out some apology. The wound was superficial to an archangel and far from lethal. Even the pain of it was starting to dull to a slight throb now.

Imperius raised a hand to pet over Rakanoth’s head as he slumped further into the cushions below, one leg sliding to slump over the edge. The demon was content to lay like that, completely spent for the time being, merely purring and arching into the touch. Eventually though, the lord of despair found energy enough to slowly start to pull his spent lengths out of his partner with a soft hiss. Imperius barely twitched, letting out a mere grunt as Rakanoth left, although one hand was quick to snag onto the demon and tug him back down in a silent demand for company. The demon let out a loud, pleased sound, more than content to snuggle down beside the archangel once more, his head resting on his chest.

“Did that pleas you, my lord?”

“Mmm...I suppose so,” Imperius murmured, “I’ll tell you so later...”

Rakanoth chuckled, turning his head to let his tongue lap over the mark he had left. Imperius just shifted, arching his head to let the demon do as he pleased there, putting up no protest now. He felt boneless and completely without worry in that moment.

It was often said though that this feeling was common to experience after a duet, the bliss and sense of completeness to a union.

But that was when souls twined in song and with the arch. Such a thing didn’t happen with Rakanoth, but there had been something there. There was a melding on some level although at the moment, Imperius couldn’t couple his thoughts together long enough to muse coherently on it.

What mattered was it had felt good. Very good.

Good enough that if the damnable demon pushed for a second time in the future, Imperius would find it harder to come up with reasons to say no to another tryst in the face of the pleasure that it brought.

The archangel let out a soft hum, lazily stroking Rakanoth’s head.

It was something to think about later. Much later.

For now, he was more than content to bask in the afterglow of the rather strange union.


	5. Destructive Tendencies (Baal x Inarius)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Destructive Tendencies (Baal x Inarius) 
> 
> Baal was destruction yes, but even he could appreciate the rare beauty of his brother's newest prisoner

* * *

Baal could hear the shriek of the captive angel long before he saw him. That loud, high-pitched wail of agony all but rumbled through Mephisto’s sanctuary, bringing with it a delicious sense of pain, desperation, and despair that would tickle Baal’s soul under any other circumstance.

Now though, the screams were too familiar, practically fading into the background. They were old and dull sounds, no longer amusing and had long since lost its novelty centuries ago in Baal’s opinion. His brother though was always one to enjoy dull things and being quiet limited in his view of things.

Not that Baal would dare say such things to the face of his elder brother given his rancorous temper.

The lord of destruction carefully picked himself down the halls of his brother’s lair, coming upon the doorway that led to the prison that Mephisto spent a lot of time inhabiting. The room in which Inarius was kept was brilliant, looking more in place in Heaven save for the wicked chains strung about that tugged into the angel’s form. All around, the mirrored walls reflected the twisted visage of the tormented angel back so no matter where Inarius looked, he would see his form torn, digging at his vanity.

A creative punishment, but the lord of destruction found it a little too repetitive. A prisoner who got use to the same torments would only grow numb to the abuse.

Baal paused in the doorway, his tendrils twitching out behind him as he settled his legs about him as he watched Mephisto apply his trade. His elder brother was delicate in his tortures, tugging on chains and eliciting screams from the angel like a musician upon his favorite instrument. The pure edge of hatred coming off his brother that was directed at Inarius was as intense as ever. The grudge he held was eternal, even if secretly Baal was terribly pleased his wretched niece and nephew were gone. He had never liked Lilith, finding her too like his brother, if more passive aggressive. Lucion was simply weak and wanting nothing more than to please his father like a desperate fallen one trying to appease an overlord.

Hell was far better without either of them. Again though, it was not something he would say out loud. True Mephisto did care deeply for his family and those he shared blood with, but even his care only went so far and his patience terribly thin. A wrong word would always throw Mephisto into a cold fury which often ended in someone suffering or legions being slaughtered until he felt appeased.

It was better that Inarius bore the brunt of his brother’s rancor for now than himself, that was for certain.

“I should have guessed you would be down here again with your little plaything,” Baal drawled, raising one hand to stroke his claws against one of the tendrils that draped over his shoulder and over his pale chest, “There are few places you linger for so long than in glowing box.”  
  
Mephisto paused, turning his skeletal visage to regard his brother, letting out a low hiss, “I cannot let this little gnat think that he is to be spared.” the lord of hatred growled, “But what has caused you to intrude so deep into my lair?”

The lord of hatred let out a low growl, lowering his head, “Into my lair without my permission.”

Baal let out a noncommittal hum, letting his claws trace over the tendril he was playing with, avoiding eye contact coyly, “Mmm, just to pass along rumors,” the lord of destruction said idly, “There are tremors in hell brother. Don’t tell me you haven’t felt your own troops suffering from sudden discontent since your daughter’s betrayal?”

A snarl escaped the lord of hatred as he turned towards his brother, his skeletal form crackling all the while, “If they wish to challenge my authority, I ask those that speak in discontent to come forward and taste my ire personally.”

“Oh, I doubt they will,” Baal drawled, giving a glance to his brother, “And even if they did, I would be alone in ripping them apart as you are content to spend your time with your pet and our little brother is crouched in his lair plotting his own plans of conquest. I almost feel neglected brother by how little you two enter into the lands of Hell these days, contenting myself to listening to Belial’s babbling.”

There was a hiss from Mephisto as the eldest prime evil leaned in closer to destruction, eyes narrowing, “Speak plainly brother. Do not play coy. I know that you care little about our attention, especially when you complain so venomously that we always keep you from having your fun in this conflict.”

A ghost of a smile tugged at Baal’s lips, his eyes sliding to meet his brothers as he continued to let his hands fidget over a few of his tendrils, “You are neglecting your throne brother and all of hell knows it. Who knows which of us will rise up to try and cast you down as surely as we did to our own mother?”

Mephisto hissed, eyes blazing, “Impudent whelp! Are you threatening me!?”

Baal merely chuckled, giving a shrug, gaze shifting away and dipping his head in a small show of respect to his brother’s power and authority, “Please, I would never dream of challenging you. Ruling Hell would be such a killjoy. No, I’m content to my place in hell,” Baal said with a shrug, “Personally, I see no reason to complain of your rule. I can live in the eternal destruction of creation as it tries again and again to build itself. I am content. But you know there are those in the ranks of the seven who are far more ambitious than I and far more contemptuous of you.”

The lord of destruction stretched out his insect-like legs out, smirking, “I would say the quiet we have in Hell now is only punctuated by your little prisoner’s screams as all else are bent towards their plots.”  
  
Mephisto growled, eyeing his brother before moving to stalk past him to the doorway, “Then perhaps I need to remind Hell of where they stand on this pecking order,” the lord of hatred hissed, “And speak with Diablo less he get ideas to move against me.”

“A wise move,” Baal murmured, although he knew by then his brother was ignoring him, caught up in stewing hatred to unleash on whatever hapless subjects got in his way, “A most agreeable plan as ever, brother.”

“But if I find out that these rumors are merley gossip of your doing, Baal, I will be having words with you,” Mephisto growled.  
  
Baal pressed a hand to his chest, “You wound me brother! I would never waste your time needlessly or trivially. Why, that would be terrible foolish of me,” the lord of destruction said, giving a simpering look to his brother, “Do you think so little of me to think me as dull as an eyeless licker?”

“No,” Mephisto growled, “But I know your perchance to sow discord whenever you grow bored.”

“If I was bored, you would know it brother,” Baal drawled, glancing away, his eyes trailing over Inarius as he hung motionless in the room, “I speak out of true concern.”  
  
Mephisto eyed his brother a moment longer before turning about and stalking out of the room, his tail clacking against the floor as he moved.

  
Baal couldn’t hold back a small, triumphant smirk. His brother would be kept well distracted by enforcing his dominance over the royalty of Hell and reminding them of their place in the pecking order. The ploy was a half-truth really. There were murmurs of rebelling, but nothing too serious for now. Just enough that Mephisto would have no reason to suspect him of duping him.

He would have no reason to suspect what Baal had really come down here to do.   
  
The lord of destruction let out a small chuckle, hands twitching eagerly as he tugged at the tendril in his hand, turning his gaze to the angel hanging limply in the chains. Even now, his features twisted as they were by the chains pulling at him, Inarius was breathtaking. His armor and robes were unsoiled save for the glowing trickle of blood cascading down his form. He still looked like the proud angel he once was despite how far he had fallen and how broken his soul was.

Baal carefully picked his way forward, making sure not to touch the chains as he had no desire to hear the angel groan and scream. Once close, he leaned in, peering up at the downcast hood. There was slight movement, a small incline of the head from Inarius showing he was still conscious. Baal chuckled again, lifting his free hand forward to run along the side of Inarius’s hood.  
  
“Oh my. My brother is far too rough with such a fair creature...” Baal said softly, his tone teasing, “Already so broken after only a few centuries.”

Inarius’s head jerked up some, staring at Baal warily, but remained silent. Baal could only chuckle as he sat back slowly, fingers fidgeting even more in silent eager glee, “Oh I know what you are thinking: why would the lord of destruction say such a thing? Do I not just delight in destroying?” Baal bared his teeth in a grin, tilting his head, “Well, I can’t deny it is true about what my passion is, but even I can have an appreciation for beauty, especially such broken beauty.”

One hand came forward again, trailing up a trail of blood over Inarius’s chest, up to the side of his hood and then to one of the hooks dug into Inarius, “But destruction is no fun if there isn’t anyone there to create and you, you are a creator of worlds,” Baal murmured, “Opening new options for my greatest thrill and for that, I can really only thank you Inarius. Your little Sanctuary gives me a continued purpose to fulfill. A new horizon to fantasize about burning.”

“It is not my intention to grant a demon any joy,” Inarius spat.   
  
Baal paused, cocking his head before chuckling, “No? Not even Lilith?” the lord of destruction asked, feeling a surge of satisfaction at how Inarius flinched, “Oh, sensitive there are we?”

Inarius remained silent. The lord of destruction let out a hum, both hands coming forward to trace over some of the hooks, “Regardless of your personal opinions, I want to give my appreciation to you Inarius, for what you created for me to destroy.” Baal tilted his head, “Would you like a chance to have these chains undone? A brief freedom from pain?”

Inarius tensed, head jerking up and regarding Baal silently before looking away, “And what is the catch for this sudden mercy from a prime evil?” the angel growled.

“I am a demon of simple tastes, Inarius and of simple demands,” Baal answered with a lazy grin, “I like to hold things, touch things, to feel the tremor of a form beneath my touch that I could break if I wanted to,” he reached out, letting his fingers once more move over Inarius’s armor, “But I won’t. I know better than to go far in crossing my brother and breaking his toys.”

“How generous of you,” Inarius sneered.   
  
“However, he will grow tired of you one day I suppose and break you himself and toss you out,” Baal responded, pulling back his hands, “A shame. He doesn’t see there is still potential for you to be used. If you were mine, I would not chain you up no, I would bade you to keep creating. I would like to see your vision.”

“Only so you could destroy it.”

Baal chuckled, “Of course. As I said, I’ m a demon of simple tastes. I don’t try to over complicate things.” the lord of destruction let his hand fall back to tug at the tendril over his shoulder again, legs shuffling, “But time is short. My brother will not be away forever. Do you wish to be free for a moment? Do you want to taste a moment of affection?”

Inarius fell silent before he looked away, “A moment of freedom then.” he said quietly, “But I see no reason to want to accept your affections.”

“Not even to have a small bit of satisfaction spiting my brother for what he’s done to you?”

Inarius did not respond, his shoulders tensing. Baal just continued to bring as he brought his hands up, letting the arcane power build about him as gentle as a wind before flicking some fingers forward. The chains shuddered before the hooks seemed to turn to cloth, pulling away gently, dropping Inarius to the ground. The angel landed heavily on his knees, a groan escaping him as he wrapped his arms about himself, fingers touching at the bleeding holes upon his armor.  
  
Baal gave the angel a mere moment of recovery before moving forward, one hand moving to slide over the tips of the wing tendrils, humming curiously. Inarius tensed at the touch, no doubt expecting pain, only to turn his head to regard Baal as the lord of destruction gently began to fiddle with the tendrils.

“...you are serious then about wanting me.”

“I am bored and when I am bored, I find ways to amuse myself, even if those amusements sometimes undermine my siblings,” Baal said with a shrug still playing with Inarius’s wings, “And it is so rare to be this close to an angel without needing to tear them apart.”

Angel wings were so odd really. They were strong and vicious in battle yet they were also warm against the palm of his hand and were more than a little soft. Baal found himself marveling at the duality of it, that something so destructive could also be so sensitive and fragile feeling. He let his hands eagerly play over the pliant tendrils, giving small tugs on occasion to watch Inarius jolt with something that was a far cry from pain.

The angel was shifting some now, head turned to regard the lord of destruction, tensing and his breath hitching with every tug and caresses of the sensitive wings, “You are far more gentle than I imagine.”  
  
“I am not here to destroy,” Baal said in amusement, “I’m more than capable of times of calm to allow things to be rebuilt.”

He gave a harder tug, one clawed hand slipping lower to brush up under where wings met Inarius’s back, watching the angel jolt and hiss, back arching slightly, “My brother and his loin spawn have played you a nasty hand, but oh...if I had you...”

The lord of destruction twirled one hand to grasp onto a handful of Inarius’s wings, giving a sudden hard pull back, causing Inarius to fall back against his legs. The limbs moved forward, wrapping lazily about Inarius’s hip as the trapped angel looked up, hands rising to grasp onto the legs about his form.

“If I had you, I would let you do as you please,” Baal all but purred, “You bring creation and order to things. You were able to steal the worldstone from right out of the fortress. Oh I was upset then….upset until I saw what you made.”

“Your flattery does not endear me to you, demon,” Inarius growled.

Baal chuckled, both hands now moving down to cup the angel’s head gently, claws dipping beneath the hood to trail against the energy within, “Then it is fortunate I do not care about that,” the demon said with a hum, “I can admire someone without being hopeless in love. Do you think me some sort of fool like you, chasing after Lilith thinking she wouldn’t simply use you?”

Inarius flinched, looking away, his grip tightening against Baal’s legs, “She didn’t use me.”

“Yes, and I have never destroyed my own fortresses for the sheer fun of it,” Baal drawled, “She is not much different than my brother. Just as cruel when she wants to be. Just as vicious. She turned your vision to ash.”

“Just as you wish to do.”

“Ah, but you at least know I will,” Baal pointed out, “I do not hold as many secrets as the children of hatred. Not to mention I would always leave part of it untouched to grow. Your vision will remain in small part to come back even more lavish, even more tempting.”  
  
Baal’s hands movedlower, tracing over armor, mapping out every inch of Inarius’s form. He shifted to crouch down more, using his forelegs to heft Inarius up a bit more so his touch could wander lower, roving down Inarius’s hips to his thighs and down to his knees slowly.

“A beautiful fool you are, but a fool nonetheless,” Baal said, one hand dipping between Inarius’s legs, “But you seem the sort to learn from past mistakes well enough, yes?”

Inarius tensed, breath hitching as he looked away, wings flicking out behind him, “If you mean if I would ever consider another demon a lover, then you are correct,” the angel hissed.

“I’m not looking for a lover,” Baal grinned, leaning in now to nuzzle Inarius lightly, “But a brief moment of pleasure, that is something I wouldn’t mind.”

“Your brother would be furious.”

“I doubt he would care,” Baal drawled, “Especially if I said it was my own torture of you. If he thinks you suffer, he will accept it. It can be our little secret if you come willingly. Our little spite against him.”

The demon crooked a claws to press up into Inarius, feeling the angel tense, shuddering before going limp, head turned away. The sensation of pleasure was no doubt welcomed after so many years of torment and pain. The trapped angel shifted before slowly turning to face Baal, his hands resting on the bent crooks of Baal’s forelegs.

“If I give you myself willingly, how would this spite Mephisto?”

“Because he wants you to be in torment. Any pleasure, any small bit of comfort or hope you can find, anything that will keep you from breaking, it will be something he can’t take from you,” Baal said with a chuckle, “That will infuriate him. A silent rebellion.”

Inarius looked away and the shame that radiated off him was clear, but there was a twist of something else. A tiny kernel of hate and anger for Mephisto as well as a desire for reprieve, for pleasure, and for intimacy upon his own terms once again. The former prophet hesitated for a moment more before he leaned in, hands already starting to feel up between the prime evil’s legs, “Then let this be as close to spitting in Mephisto’s face as I can manage and be a continuing thorn in his wretched side.”

Baal only hummed, letting a hand pet over Inarius’s head as the angel began his work. It did not take him long to find the hefty, prehensile length curled up just behind Baal’s forelegs. The angel paused for a moment, wings pulling against his back which caused the prime evil to cackle.

“Not expecting something so substantial, dear Inarius?”

“I will admit, I was under the impression you would be a lot smaller for how often you cave to your brothers,” Inarius drawled.

Baal only chuckled at the poor attempt at an insult, moving to draw Inarius closer between his legs.  
The angel gave a few strokes before he leaned forward, pulling head into the darkness beneath his hood. The lord of destruction couldn’t help a giddy noise of pleasure, his forelegs eagerly pressing up against Inarius’s sides as his hands moved to bunch up Inarius’s wings.   
  
The former prophet shuddered, letting out a choked moan before starting to pleasure Baal more formerly. The angel had a talent for it, no doubt having performed this act on a male demon before. Idly Baal wondered if Lilith had convinced him to such acts as a means of entertainment for her and the lovesick fool had went along with. Either way, Baal enjoyed the ministrations for a moment more before he roughly pushed Inarius back, all but dragging him to his feet.

Mephisto would not be gone long and he was eager for more than just the service of Inarius’s mouth. The angel staggered some before he was turned about and all but pushed up against the wall. One of Baal’s hands pressed hard against the base of his wings, eliciting a loud moan of pleasure. Inarius was trembling, putting up no protest as Baal’s forelegs pressed his legs apart. The lord of destruction chuckled as both front legs rose up, hooking about Inarius’s hips before he inched forward, easing the swollen head of his length into the angel’s warm heat.

The inner form of angels were always hot and perfectly tight. The energy clasped about Baal causing him to let out a groan of pleasure himself. He was not patient at this point, starting to hump forward quickly and set a bone-rattling pace. In a few moments, Inarius was starting to wail.  
  
The angel grasped at the wall, fingers finding no purchase against the smooth surface of the mirror as he rocked back. The glowing mix of blood from his wounds now mixed with drips of power escaping his from from between his spread legs, dropping to the floor. Inarius was trembling, gasping out a babble of desires as he was taken roughly, not minding the pace. All around, the mirrors reflected the debased act in a hundred facets, and Baal was more than pleased at the sight, of so many angles Inarius was caught in being defiled all over again. Inarius was far too gone to care, too caught up in pleasure not experienced for hundreds of centuries, of something other than pain singing in his soul.

His wings were fluttering, burning brighter as he tried his best to match the quick pace Baal had set, all but boneless and held up only by the forelegs hooked about his form holding him in place. As soon as the lord of destruction buried claws against the sensitive base of his wings, Inarius let out a loud cry, going rigid as he cascaded over the edge.   
  
Energy bled off in a torrent from his wings and more of energy was expelled from between his legs about the length pressed into him as well as from his own glowing length that had formed by habit. He trembled, slumped against the wall, all but whimpering as Baal let out a snarl, releasing deep within his inner form, mixing that destructive seed within him. Baal enjoyed the sensation for a moment, indulging in how Inarius was shivering and shuddering before slowly he pulled out and away from the plaything of his brother.   
  
Inarius sagged down to the floor, panting softly, head bowed as he recovered. His wings were nothing but tendrils of curling smoke as he basked in the afterglow of the impromptu union, the ground between his legs slowly starting to become soiled with a mixture of blood and fluids.

Really, his brother was so rough with Inarius if he so easily fell to any bit of small kindness and pleasure, no matter who was providing it. Baal had to hold back a chuckle.   
  
Always a fool, but a fool that was even more starved for something or someone who would hold out a hand of kindness, even if said hand was hidden behind false niceties.   
  
  
Still, it was a shame he would need to be locked up again, “I’ll be sure to return whenever I can, but no promises can be made tehre,” Baal cooed, reaching down to pet a hand through Inarius’s wings, “Maybe in time I’ll even convince him to let me have you to enact my own vision of things.”  
  
Inarius turned his head towards Baal, the energy of his wings starting to flicker again, “...so you would break me to be nothing more than your plaything then?”

“Maybe, but I’m not so rough with things that allow me to keep destroying,” Baal responded, giving a small tug of Inarius’s wings with one hand, “I would never have need to be cruel when you give me what I want. I would never have a need to come spoil your fun as long as you give me enough to destroy.”

A broken laugh escaped Inarius as he looked away, rising up on his knees, “If I would have come to you with the idea to steal the worldstone and not Lilith-”

“We would be building and destroying Sanctuary ten times over, wiping out all your failures and only rising up your successes,” Baal responded, starting to withdraw, “But ah, if we could only change how the past played out, yes?”

Baal gave a wave of his hand and the hooks sprung forward, slipping back into place and tugging Inarius roughly to his feet. The angel gasped in pain, writhing before slumping again, head bowed. He looked like a pinned butterfly, his wings and form stretched out at such painful angles. Truly Mephisto was a master of twisted punishments.   
  
“I’ll be back,” Baal vowed, already starting to scuttle back towards the door, making no move to clean the mess still dripping from Inarius onto the floor, “Until next time, my little creator. Until next time.”  
  
Inarius lifted his head barely to watch as Baal left, but did not speak. The pain no doubt had robbed his voice again briefly.   
  
It mattered little to Baal. The lord of destruction began to scramble down the darkened halls of his brother’s lair, chuckling softly to himself, hands rising to eagerly fiddle with one of his tendrils to curb his antsy excitement. In a few centuries more perhaps he would ask his brother to turn Inarius over to him.

After all, destruction could always admire those that fostered creation for the stained-glass windows they were before breaking them all to pieces again and again.   



	6. Bul'Kathos/Rathma:Grab Life by the Horns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grab by the Horns (Bul’Kathos x Rathma)  
Bul’Kathos always makes attempts to get Rathma to live a little. Maybe this time he got him to live a little too much.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Instinct was all that mattered in the wilds of Sanctuary. 

There was no room for musings or for relaxation beneath the tangled branches of the jungle canopy. There was only the present, the living moment that surrounded each breath, each sense as everything melted away to the basic needs of survival. The green world of dark beauty was not to be taken in. It was meant to be understood, for in these jungles and the world that flourished beneath it, the delicate balance of life and death, light and shadow, played out again and again between predator and prey and only to its wisest children, did the jungle grant the boon of life.

To the fools who stumbled in seeking refuge or believing the place to be some breath-taking lost land were those who ended up in the bellies of the twisted creatures that called this place home. The humidity and heat would overcome. The venom and disease would suck away stamina. 

All that would be left was a corpse to those that did not learn to survive quickly. The love of the jungle was colder than any wasteland and the land hid the bodies well.

For Rathma, the place was his home, and every day, the only focus was survival and to practice his own art away from the eyes of those that would deem his calling unnatural or would try to seek it as a weapon.

Within the jungle, Rathma found blessed isolation and peace away from the world. With the wild world, all that he needed to concern himself was the basic instincts of life: to eat, to drink, and to rest.

The first of the nephelem lay still today, spread out lengthwise against the branch of a tree, not moving a muscle. The dark clothes he wore, molted with subtle shades of other colors caused him to all but vanish within the foliage. His breathing was steady and soft, barely audible and controlled. He dared only to take in a short one when a sound in the forest provided cover. Small biting insects darted about and any little spot he had missed covering with his salves was assaulted and yet he still did not move.

Minor discomforts were not worth losing dinner.

Rathma’s gaze was locked ahead as a deer-like creature cautiously picked its way through the foliage. The beast had no hooves, only hand-like paws more akin to a primeape that it used to climb silently over roots and rocks, pausing now and again to browse through the undergrowth for a mouthful of some plant it was partial to. The head was large and flat, a pair of antlers extending upwards from the back and large, unblinking eyes stared out to the sides as well as two forward from an almost human-like face out the front, although animal features distorted it. 

It was a twisted thing, a creature of an age of creation that saw the rise of hideous abominations of life in the quest to make something “perfect”. Such creatures though were in decline, slowly being hunted to extinction by the weaker Edyrem. They were seen as monstrosities.

It nearly brought a slight sneer to Rathma’s lips at the very thought.

What would the Edyrem make of him if they were to see him as he was?

Rathma’s muscles tensed. The creature began to move closer, unaware of the predator watching it.

It was a rare breed, but in the jungle, when a missed hunt could mean a growling belly for days to come, a predator couldn’t afford to take into account how little of any one creature was left.

Each step the creature made brought it closer to him. 

Rathma didn’t move. His fingers curled against the bark, digging claws into the soft wood silently. Toes flexed. 

The beast took the final step into range.

It never saw its death come.

All it took was a single strike of the dagger and the creature collapsed to the ground in a soundless heap, only allowing a trickle of blood to escape from the cut along its neck. It was a superficial cut, but the poison his dagger was treated with, a concoction made of his own lethal venom, was quick to act so close to the brain.

Rathma dropped down fully, stepping over to the creature and kneeling down. A hand brushed gently over the creature’s head and in its wide eyes, he could see the quiet panic knowing its time was here, but also an acceptance that all living things connected to the balance understood. 

He did not prolong the creatures suffering, quickly twisting the head and breaking the spine, allowing it into the eternal comfort of death.

A clean kill. Little blood wasted.

A satisfactory hunt. 

Rathma allowed a moment for a quiet prayer within his mind before he moved to sheath his dagger and pull forth a hunting dagger carved of bone and began to work on carving up his kill. His stomach rumbled with a sharp pain of hunger, although Rathma ignored it, knowing soon the gnawing in his gut would be sated. It had been a few days since he ate, more so from a lack of opportunity to hunt properly. The fruits and berries of the forest never truly could slake his hunger like the taste of raw flesh and blood could.

No doubt something passed along from his mother and her demonic nature. 

Rathma let out a snort, giving a shake of his head as he pushed such thoughts aside. There was nothing to be done about the issue and for now, his prefered meal was laid out before him. Carefully he pulled forth a bloody chunk, jaw unhinging slightly to allow him to give a harder snap to dig his serrated teeth into the flesh.

The meat was fresh, still warm with life, and dripping with blood. It brought with it a slow satiation of his hunger. However, even as he ate and enjoyed the near bliss of a good meal after so long, Rathma did not drop his guard. Blood would attract predators and he would be forced to abandon his meal or try and scare off whatever hungry predator wanted to take a bite. 

If he dropped his guard for a minute, there was no telling what predator might try to make a meal out of him and Rathma was not about to let some beast be what sent him to the land of souls. He took a few more bites, finishing up the hunk of flesh and paused to lick blood from his fingers with quick flicks of a tongue that was far too long and seemed a strange mix of a cat and a snake. Flat, but forked and flexible. All of it tucked between flashing, iridescent looking teeth, curled back and forth along the molars with a second pair of hook-like ones just beneath line of sight. 

Rathma looked down at the corpse, giving a glance around before setting about to work. He reached out a hand, murmuring and soon the body began to twitch. The limbs stretched before curling as the corpse began to lurch up to its face. The father of necromancy allowed himself a small smirk.

It made it so much easier to take prey back to his cave when the corpse could walk itself back. 

The revere of the necromancer was broken though by the sudden snap of a twig and he let out a hiss. In a near instant he had darted back into the undergrowth, climbing up a tree with an uncanny speed and grace, ducking in close about the leaves, glaring. His teeth were bared in a grimace of displeasure though when he heard the source of the sound let out a booming left that echoed through the jungle.

There was only being in all creation that was so suicidally brave to go tromping through the jungle with little head to danger and no doubt wanting every predator in the land to try and take a bite of them. 

“Bul’Kathos.” Rathma growled, remaining in his hiding spot for now, “Must you always try to sneak up on me?”

The large nepehelem that came crashing in from a copse of trees, grinning wide and bearing all his fangs, eyes practically glowing in delight, despite his game being over before he had the chance to enact it. Bul’Kathos stomped into the clearing, looking about, ears flicked up as he tried to locate where the smaller nepehelem had secreted himself away.

“Of course! It is no fun to greet you casually!” he boomed, “And you don’t know how hard it is to actually find you half the time Rathma! Sometimes I think you don’t want to be around me!”

Rathma gave a roll of his eyes before sliding down from his hiding spot, keeping his cloak pulled about his form, glowering at his towering companion from beneath his hood, “I like my solitude, Bul’Kathos and I am always glad to see you when I’m home and not in the middle of dinner.”

“Bah! We used to always share dinner!” Bul’Kathos’s eyes lit up though as he saw his friend, bounding over to him to all but crush Rathma into a hug, “And I miss those times together terribly!”

A hiss escaped the smaller nephelem, but he put up no fight. There was no escaping one of Bul’Kathos’s hugs, not when the man was excited to someone. Rathma simply went limp, rolling his eyes again and accepting his fate, although there was the barest hint of a smile on his thin, almost black lips, “And I suppose I missed you too,” he murmured awkwardly patting the man on the back, taking in his old friend.

Bul’Kathos was a large nephelem, all muscle confined barely behind a simple kilt and belt/ A pair of large ram-like horns curled back from a heavily bearded face, almost getting tangled in the wild mane of hair the man sported. A pair of saber-toothed fangs protruded upwards and downwards over his lips, and the color of his skin was an unnatural hue and rough like sandpaper to the touch. His appearance was monstrous to some of course, but often, like most first generation nephelem, Bul’Kathos disguised such features when appearing before mortals.

Attempted to, Rathma mentally reminded himself. The large nephelem couldn’t seem to keep things focus causing his appearance for mortals to shift constantly. Many of the Edyrem were convinced his form was in constant flux due to that fact. 

The pale nephelem snorted some and squirmed to get an arm free, reaching up to clutch at a branch and pull himself out of Bul’Kathos’s grip. He swung up upon the branch, clutching onto it with claws and feet before swinging back around to glower at the other man, now completely upside down but at eye level with the taller nephelem, “I was in the middle taking care of my prey. I’m not in the mood to be chased by some wild boarfang today.” 

“If there is one about, it wouldn’t dare come near me” Bul’Kathos boasted, “I wouldn’t let it touch you or your meal.”

Bul’Kathos paused for a moment, his gaze falling upon the undead creature that stood awaiting Rathma’s command, “But, you know, you wouldn’t have to live like this and hunt like some sort of animal if you would just come live in the village-”

“I do not much care for a lot of company, nor comforts,” Rathma interrupted with a frown, eyes narrowing, “Nor the rules that are in place as remnants of what my father felt made a society just.” 

Bul’Kathos sighed, raising a hand to slip under Rathma’s cloak and latch a hand onto one of the slender, elegant white horns he sported, giving a tug, “Must it always come back to your father?” he drawled, “You need to learn to live a little and stop making yourself live in his shadow. He doesn’t even bother us anymore.”

“Because he can’t find you,” Rathma retorted, giving a shake of his head to pull the horn lose, causing his hood to fall back and reveal his more inhuman features, “I do not want to risk having to meet the bastard again.”

“Not even if it meant living with me?”

Rathma eyed the other nephelem, pursing his lips before glancing away, ignoring the ever so slight burn of a blush against his pale cheeks, “That only makes me want to live in a village even more. I’m saved from hearing your hollering all the time and can get decent sleep without the rumble of your snores that could bring down a mountain.”

Bul’Kathos let out a laugh before suddenly reaching up to drag Rathma down off his precarious perch. The necromancer let out a snarling hiss, struggling as the barbarian of a nephelem crushed him against his chest once more, one hand rising to carefully tussle his hair and horns, “Oh you grumpy lizard! I know you miss me! I can tell! You don’t always have to act so contrary all the time!”

“If I did miss you, even a little before, now I am certain I could care less about you now!” Rathma huffed, pushing on the other man’s chest, baring his fangs as they unfolded, dripping already with a slight string of venom, “Unhand me at once!”

Bul’Kathos chuckled, but released Rathma. As soon as he was free, the necromancer was already darting away up a tree again, clutching onto a new perch and eyeing the other nephelem. 

“You are too flighty Rathma,” Bul’Kathos commented, crossing his arms, “Like some feral cat.”

“And you aren’t cautious enough,” Rathma retorted, “The entire jungle probably knows you are here!”

“And nothing in this jungle would be dumb enough to mess with me!” Bul’Kathos responded with a laugh, “Relax my friend, I swear, if anything attacks, I’ll defend your slender body.”

Rathma gave a roll of his eyes, tail swishing back and forth as he scampered back down to the ground and back to his kill, “You are an eternal pain in my side.”

“I would say more a pain in your backside from time to time, but I don’t hear you often complaining about that,” Bul’Kathos said with a wide grin and a wink.

That had Rathma blushing more, all but pouting as he gave a swat to the bloody rump of the undead creature, sending it darting off through the jungle and to the cave he called home, “Right now, I would say a most definite headache...”

Bul’Kathos chuckled, setting down on his haunches as he watched the smaller nephelem cross his legs, leaning his wait back on his muscular tail. Rathma huffed some, eyes narrowing, causing the black tattoos upon the pale skin of his face to tighten, “So, what is it you want?”

“We haven’t spent time together in a long time is all,” Bul’Kathos murmured, glancing away, “I wanted to see you.” 

Rathma jolted, glancing up at Bul’Kathos before frowning giving a glance about, “We live different lives now-” 

“Wasn’t how it use to be.”

Rathma flicked his gaze over to his companion, feeling his heart tighten at the warm, hopeful smile Bul’Kathos was giving him. The blush returned to his pale cheeks and he looked away again, one hand rising to rub furiously at his cheeks, smearing a bit of blood on them as if that would hide the color that graced them. Honestly Bul’Kathos had no right being so attractive when he smiled. 

“Yes, but time changes. We are no longer the men we were when the world hadn’t become so complicated,” Rathma murmured, “You wish to still live with our descendants and kin and I wish for my solitude.”

“I think you just keep telling yourself that because of the guilt.”

Rathma looked up sharply, hissing, but he didn’t get the chance to retort as Bul’Kathos’s lips pressed ot his own. He tensed, nearly losing his balance on the perch of his tail. After a moment though his gaze softened and he perhaps leaned into it, just a little. The kiss was brief though and soon Bul’Kathos pulled away, one hand raised to stroke his knuckles against the deceptively smooth skin of the pale nephelem, “You need to stop beating yourself up for the past, my moon. You deserve to be happy too.”

“If I hadn’t spoken to my father-”

“He would have found another way to hunt down our parents and many of our kind who stood against him. Nothing of it was your doing,” Bul’Kathos murmured.

Rathma sighed, but found himself leaning into the touch of the other nephelem, eyes sliding closed, “And what if it happens again because of me?”

“It won’t. You have to have faith that it won’t,” Bul’Kathos smiled, sitting back as he drew the other man into his arms, leaning in to nuzzle him, “You can’t be alone forever. We weren’t meant to be isolated.”

“I will never be able to relax if with others,” Rathma responded quietly, “The memories, the nightmares will never leave me. The ghosts of the past follow my step, wailing, howling for vengeance.”

“Then ignore them,” Bul’Kathos said simply, “And focus on me.”

The second kiss was expected and this time Rathma leaned into it, shivering at the contact. Bul’Kathos was warm with the taste of the sun upon his lips. He was rough, but with a marked gentleness that had the smaller nephelem all but melting against him. Rough hands came up to gently tug Rathma’s cloak down, exposing the bone-white completion he had that matched the curling white horns about his head. Tattoos adorned Rathma’s face, a show of a time long ago when he had called a tribe home once, and in the dappled sunlight, his skin glimmered, indicating the subtle markings of scales over his cheeks.

Bul’Kathos could only hum as he pulled away from the kiss, taking in the sight of his lover and how his long, unkempt white hair hung about his face and over his shoulders, “I’ve missed my moon.”

“And I’ve missed my sun,” Rathma said softly, a tiredness to his eyes as he leaned up against the other man, letting claws, still caked in blood, start to trail over the familiar map of muscle, scars, and hair that adorned the larger nephelem’s body, “I’ve missed you, and there has not been a day when I have wished I could stay beside you.”

“Nothing is stopping you Rathma,” Bul’Kathos responded, his own hands moving to slowly working the cloak and tunic form rathma’s shoulder, exposing more of the pale, thin body of his lover.

Rathma let out a quiet chuckle as he sat back, just enough to help disrobe himself, “Nothing stopping me but myself, the worse enemy of all.”

“But one that you will conquer. You are too stubborn not to,” Bul’Kathos chuckled before leaning in to nip at the other man’s neck, sucking lightly over his pulse point and drawing a moan from Rathma’s lips. The necromancer all but sank back in his lover’s lap, hips already grinding down against the growing bulge beneath his rear. 

When Bul’Kathos spoke, it was always firm and with no hesitation. Much like his angelic father. There was also that strange gentleness for someone so rough and monstrous looking, a trait of his demonic parent. They had balanced out to make him perfect and wild.

Rathma felt unworthy to even be letting his hands slide over the other man, dragging claw over old scars and faded tatoos as he moved to push up the kilt his lover wore to take his heated length in hand. Bul’Kathos let out a groan as his lover began to attend to his need, one hand moving up to tangle in Rathma’s wild, matted white locks.

“Ah,my moon,” he murmured, hips already rocking, “The nights have been want for your company again. The sky far less without you there.”

Rathma chuckled, “And my world has been gloomy without you, my sun, to burn the clouds away,” He murmured, starting to lower himself, “I only cultivate dust without your light.”

The years of isolation were long and lonely, but he deserved it for what he had allowed to happen, what he had helped to happen. The guilt gnawed at him. The spirits hissed at him. Here though, with Bul’Kathos, he could forget about the lonely existence he had sentenced himself to. Rathma leaned in close to Bul’Kathos’s member, letting his tongue snake out to work over the gland, letting out a pleased hum when his lover moaned loudly. He wasted little time in teasing though, slipping the barbarian’s length into his mouth. 

His tongue was long like that of a snake, and had little difficulty wrapping repetitively around the hefty girth of the other man. He was careful though, especially given the razor trap his teeth were, especially the fangs which he made sure to keep curled back.

He certainly wasn’t in the mood to tease his lover by nipping him with the paralyzing venom and letting Bul’Kathos feel the heightened pleasure and immobility it brought. Such play was for rougher days.

Not now. Not when all Rathma wanted was the intimacy that came with being completely loved.

Rathma slipped a hand down his own pants, fingers already eager to press against his own need now. Bul’Kathos was moaning louder now, hips bucking under the attention and the pungent salty taste of pre-cum was thick against Rathma’s tongue, causing him to shiver, his own hips bucking as he let his fingers slip into the drooling slit between his legs.

Soon his need was too great. After all, he was the son of Lilith and his mother’s talents and greatest needs had been carnal. The heat settled in his loins as he pulled away from pleasuring Bul’Kathos, panting as he shifted to slip out of his black trousers.

“Gentle,” Rathma murmured as he slipped back into Bul’Kathos’s lap, “It has been a while.”

“I will be,” the barbarian responded, smiling as his hand lowered to take over for Rathma’s, the other hand coming down to stroke the pale nephelem’s twitching length. The feeling of pleasure that swept over Rathma had him moaning, arching his hips and giving eager bucks. He could feel the heat of his lover’s member slipping against the fluids of his slit, causing embarrassing mewling sounds to escape the normally reserved pale Nephelem. Rathma all but buried his face against his lover’s shoulder, shaking his head. 

“Don’t tease...” He pleaded softly, “I’m aching too much for that right now.”

“As you wish my moon,” Bul’Kathos responded, withdrawing his fingers and moving to take a hold of his length and guide the tip to his slit.

Rathma merely nodded, sucking in a breath and trying to force himself not to grow tense as his lover pushed forward. 

It was a tight fit as always and Rathma found himself panting, jaw slack as he let gravity assist him in sinking down on the impressive member of his lover. Bul’Kathos’s girth alone made it feel like he was about to be split in two. There was discomfort, but also an aching pleasure that had Rathma forcing himself not to squirm in delight. The pale nephelem’s legs and tail moved to wrap about the hips of his lover as he finally had him completely sheathed in his clasping heat.

Bul’Kathos was groaning louder, his mouth hot and demanding against Rathma’s neck, kissing over the skin and licking as a means to distract himself from bucking. He did not have to wait long though. Rathma was as eager as him and soon the pale nephelem was lifting his hips and dropping them down, moaning and squirming, desperate to fulfill the heat of lust now burning in him.

Their rhythm quickly became wild. All thoughts were lost as the instinctual needs of their demonic heritage bade them to mate roughly. Rathma’s composure broke quickly as he began to yowl and shudder driving himself down onto that length over and over again, feeling it plunder the deepest parts of his passage. By the time his climax found him, Rathma was covered in a sheen of sweat, his neck blotted by dark bruises, and completely out of his mind with pleasure as he keened, clenching down tight about his lover even as his length went rigid, coating Bul’Kathos’s belly in his own seed. 

The barbarian lasted only a few moments longer before he reached his own peak with a snarl, slamming deep into Rathma. The sudden spurt of hot bliss had Rathma trembling, falling into the spasms of a second orgasm quickly, mouth hanging open as he went completely limp against Bul’Kathos’s chest. 

The jungle fell silent save their ragged breathing, only the familiar chirps of the wildlife in the distance. Rathma let his eyes slide closed. He let himself indulge in the broad warmth of the much larger nephelem and the feel of one of his giant hands stroking over his hair. 

Maybe one day he would believe he deserved this affection and happiness. Perhaps on that day he would stop his skulking about in the forest, living like a practical animal surrounded only by the dead.

Maybe.

In this moment, he could at least convince himself that he was ready now to return with Bul’Kathos and that when they parted, he would follow him out.

He could always forgive himself when Bul’Kathos held him.

But he also knew when the moment faded, the guilt and hesitancy would close in again and keep him lurking in the shadows of the jungle, rarely walking out into the civilized lands of the world to wander the graveyards and edges of towns, wearing the disguise of something more “human” for the sake of the easily scared Edyrem.

Maybe one day though, he could find it in himself to seek forgiveness. 

Maybe.

For now, he allowed himself to enjoy the warmth of the man beneath him, the two of them curled up in the jungle’s hidden embrace as they were granted a moment of reprieve.


End file.
